So what’s a bit of garlic breath between friends?
Notwithstanding the fact that I’m sure I reeked of garlic after lunch yesterday, nobody seemed to mind. Or, if they did, at least they didn’t let on. They’re a generally polite and friendly crowd, food bloggers. And, of course, they had been eating lovely garlic-laden food too.
Psst, there be garlic in that there hummus
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“It’s nearly midnight”.
Myself and KD were skirting close to that cinderella time of night, when it was best to leave before turning into something less than beautiful. We had spent the previous several hours at a lovely New Zealand wine tasting arranged by the good folks at Curious Wines. Guiding us through our suppage was Joyce Austin of New Zealand Boutique Wines, as we worked our way through 11 wines and played guess-the-grape and describe-that-taste (with, it has to be said, mixed success – frankly I blame the chili I had for dinner). We were very diligent about drinking everything that was poured for us, though, to the point of there being much giddiness at our table. Luckily, though my recall might be hazy, my notes tell me that the two which most appealed to my palate that evening were a 2008 reisling and 2006 pinotage, both from the Muddy Water winery. My wine horizons, I feel, continue to expand.
It's like this - you swirl the wine, then keep a firm grip of your glass lest anyone try to make off with it
Update 3/12/09: It has been brought to my attention that Rose was rather horrified by the mention of tights in the context of this post. Fergal has admitted that he may have been deluded on this point – after all, he had never made boxty himself – and I believe that it is Rose’s view that tights would not be used in this way in modern civilised society. Apologies, Rose – the post has been amended to reflect this view.
“You’ll need tights,” said Fergal (though, as you may have gathered, he was ultimately mistaken on this point).
“Er, ‘scuse me…?”
We were arranging a visit to Fergal’s mammy, Rose, for a boxty-making session. Fergal, as it turns out, was referring not to a dress code for the visit (phew), but to the tights one might (or, as it turns out, might not) use to squeeze grated raw potato – boxty’s principal ingredient.
It had been many months since I first heard my friend Fergal wax lyrical about his mammy’s boxty and I had been pestering him for the recipes ever since. While boxty is a very traditional Irish potato dish, it is not something that was ever made in my family, and remained a significant gap in my potato repertoire. This was my chance to get the low-down on same from a native of Leitrim, where boxty is big.
Rose demonstrates just how boxty is done